


in head versus heart, my head was always weak

by cori_the_bloody



Series: clexa week 2016 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, because screw 3.07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7274869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cori_the_bloody/pseuds/cori_the_bloody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or - 5 times lexa stops herself from saying 'i love you' and the 1 time she doesn't<br/>written for <a href="http://catty-words.tumblr.com/tagged/clexaweek">clexa week</a> day 3: favorite quote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in head versus heart, my head was always weak

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or the universe, just having fun with them. All borrowed quotes belong to the writers who wrote the episodes they're in, of course  
>  **Author's Note:** This is unbeta'd, so please excuse any errors.  
>  it's so hard to choose a favorite clexa quote because nearly everything they said to each other was poetic and meaningful. so, i went with a handful of quotes that had a cohesive theme. the ending of this fic is canon-divergent because 3.07 is bullshit and these two deserved a happy ending.

There’s a tear in Lexa’s tent directly in her line of sight when she lays stretched out on her cot with her head propped up on her arm. She watches the starlight glimmer defiantly through a canopy of full branches, and lets her mind wander.

Tomorrow, she co-leads a charge on the most powerful and technologically advanced enemy she’s ever known—a battle she should undoubtedly be mentally preparing herself for—and yet here she is. Wondering how Clarke kom Skaikru’s eyes could possibly strike such an undeniable resemblance to the starry night sky.

With a groan of frustration, she rolls onto her side, tucks her knees in close to her body, and ponders the last time she felt so volatile, so fizzy-brained and out of control. After a moment, her mind settles on thoughts of Costia.

The details of the night she’d known with absolute certainty that she was in love are still clear to her. There was to be a rare lunar spectacle, so the two of them had snuck out of the city and scaled the tallest tree they could find.

The air had been unforgiving in its chilliness, but it smelled so comfortingly of home, of Tondc: pine needles and brine and campfire smoke.

Though their view of the sky was obscured, they were able to watch the moon turn the color of red _fotam_ leaves until the world was glowing eerily around them. Lexa had made the mistake of glancing down at exactly the wrong moment, and vertigo seized her. She’d felt like she was tumbling endlessly toward the ground.

That’s when Costia had taken hold of her hand, stilling the frantic beating of Lexa’s heart.

Whenever Clarke is near, Lexa feels like she’s sitting in that tree again, suspended high above the ground—a warm palm her only anchor.

And that’s where her mind had been all day—floating in the treetops. In the midst of her eternal fall, she’d given away her most guarded secret. Had brashly admitted weakness to the enemy of her good sense.

_“Not everyone. Not you.”_

Lexa stretches out onto her back once again, a single tear escaping from her closed eyes.

Costia’s ghost screams in her mind, reminding her that duty must come first…that the only way to protect those she cares most about is to remain distant and unmoved.

She’d slipped today. She’d hinted at the gravity of her feelings and gotten _not yet_ s and _not ready_ s in return. Now her goal can only be to keep her heart from gaining any more control: something that would be easier had the rejection not been conditional. Had she not been gifted the promise of _someday_.

“Hey.” Clarke’s soft voice carries from the tent entrance. “Are you awake? I couldn’t sleep.”

Lexa jolts upright in bed. She takes a steadying breath before asking, “What can I do for you, Clarke?”

“I don’t know. I thought we could go over everything one more time,” she says, edging further inside.

It’s a terrible idea—they should both be resting, after all—but Lexa’s heart jumps at the chance to put away her thoughts and spend the night with Clarke.

With a self-derisive chuckle, she stands.

“You have my undivided attention.”

###

Lexa feels as though she’s chained to the ocean floor and thousands of gallons of water are pressing down on her chest. Such is the weight of Clarke’s stare as it follows her retreating form.

To keep from looking back, she mouths _made this choice with my head and not my heart_ to herself over and over again.

She’s fulfilling her duty. Her primary responsibility is to her people, after all.

Not to herself.

_Made this choice with my head and not my heart._

Every single one of her predecessors would have made the same decision. They would have considered the risks and the benefits, but ultimately, they would have taken the deal to ensure the safety of their people.

_Made this choice with my head and not my heart._

Still, the memory of Clarke’s crestfallen face makes Lexa’s stomach churn. How is it that the right choices so often inspire shame and guilt?

_Made this choice with my head and not my heart._

If only Lexa could go back and hand-deliver the footnotes to Clarke. Yes, she made the choice with her head, but if she’d been able to choose with her heart there’d have been not a moment of hesitation.

It would have Clarke.

The certainty of it scares her.

But she cannot turn around. That would be a violation of her deal with the Mountain.

_Made this choice with my head and not my heart._

Part of her is comforted by the fact that she’s strong enough not to betray her people for the chance to feel Clarke’s lips pressed against hers once more.

A bigger part of her yearns for a life free from this constant obligation to everyone but herself.

_Made this choice with my head and not with my heart._

Now she knows down to her bones that her head belongs completely to her people and her heart belongs completely to the girl from the sky.

She feels empty as a wardrum.

_Made this choice with my head and not with my heart._

###

There’s a certain intimacy to trust.

To trust someone else is to leave yourself vulnerable to their fallibility.

It is understanding they are human but having the faith they’ll do the best they can anyway. It’s an ease of mind in their presence. It’s being comfortable enough to fall asleep with them in the room even when you’re surrounded by weapons. It’s blindly following them into the heart of Pauna’s lair. It’s swallowing over the catch in your throat to ask them if they’ll come visit you at home.

It’s falling to your knees in front of them and knowing you haven’t earned the right to ask for forgiveness yet.

_“I swear fealty to you, Clarke kom Skaikru. I vow to treat your needs as my own and your people as my people.”_

It’s a promise to work harder and do better to be worthy of such graciousness.

It’s hope that maybe one day, even though you don’t deserve it, you’ll be privileged enough to regain their faith in you.

###

_“Reshop, Heda.”_

Lexa ducks her head and stands, trying not to let Clarke see her disappointment.

The last shred of hope that Clarke had behaved out of affection or attachment or some similar emotion today slips through Lexa’s cut and bruised fingers.

Though she foolishly wants to cling to Clarke—to take comfort in her and to talk about how apprehensive she’d been all day that she’d die without making things right between them—she knows how selfish that would be.

Clarke needs more time. She needs to hold Lexa at arm’s length and work through her hurt and anger.

Lexa needs to respect that.

She _wants_ to respect that.

It’s simply hard to reign in her affection. Now that she’s let her heart out of its strict confinement, the excitable organ is eager to take charge.

However, balance between heart and head is key, so Lexa matches Clarke’s formality to let her know she can be patient. To let her know she cares enough to move at whatever pace Clarke needs.

_“Goodnight, ambassador.”_

###

Clarke is leaving. Lexa knows as soon as she sees the look on her face.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise—the world seems intent on ripping them apart—and yet Lexa can’t help feeling completely blindsided. She’d been daft enough to hope they could stay together. Fight together. Grow together.

 _Be_ together.

Yet war is brewing, and their people want completely different things. The circumstances do not allow for matters of the heart to come first.

Clarke thinks she needs to apologize for honoring her duty to her people. What she doesn’t understand is that it only makes Lexa care for her more fully and deeply than ever before.

There’s a certain poetry to it, after all: the thing that connects them so profoundly is also what drives them to leave the other behind.

_“You have to go back. They’re your people. That’s why I—.”_

More than ever, Lexa’s heart yearns to tell Clarke the truth of her feelings. She almost lets the words she hasn’t dared to speak to anyone for years past her lips but catches herself just in time.

To put that kind of pressure on Clarke is to further burden her decision. Lexa wants her to be able to leave Polis without hesitation more than she wants to fully unleash her heart from its cage.

_“That’s why you’re you.”_

Those words, poor substitute though they are, will have to be enough.

###

Lexa wades through a dream, totally detached from her body.

She knows it’s a dream because she’s wandering through the forest surrounding Tondc, tucked safely into Costia’s side.

The sky is a brilliant, striking red and the tree trunks shimmer and disappear at random intervals in her peripheral vision.

A figure moves ahead of them, cutting a clear trail through the brush.

Lexa thinks she can make out a wave of blonde hair, but the person is too far in the foreground for her to be sure.

“Lexa, come back to me. Please?”

The voice must be coming from Costia, but her mouth hasn’t moved. And the quality is all wrong—too husky and drenched in desperation.

She tries to tell Costia that she’s right here, but her jaw feels weighted and she can’t open her mouth to form the words.

“She’s moving! She’s moving! Lexa? Lexa, can you hear me?”

She can, but she doesn’t understand.

Suddenly, Costia disengages from her and disappears into the forest.

Ahead of her, the figure breaks out into a run.

She pauses, taking a second to decide if she should move deeper into the woods to search for Costia or if she should try to keep up with the mysterious figure.

A gut feeling tugs her forward and she starts to jog.

“I’m going to give you something for the pain,” a different voice says.

For a moment, Lexa’s confused because there isn’t any pain and she still doesn’t understand where these people are hiding.

But then the awareness of her body comes rushing back to her and she doubles over, crashing to the forest floor with an anguished cry.

“Oh, god, mom, what’s happening to her?”

“She’s regaining consciousness. Don’t worry, Clarke. This’ll put her to sleep, ease her pain.”

“N-no,” Lexa protests feebly, but it’s too late. The ground disappears from beneath her and she’s sinking in water.

Down.

Down.

Dow—.

…

……

…………

……

…

When her eyes open, she’s met with darkness.

She tries to sit up, confused and curious, but a biting cramp in her abdomen quickly squashes her efforts.

As she takes several, painfully deep breaths, Lexa waits for her eyes to adjust to the limited light. Once they do, she sees that she’s in her bedroom in Polis.

A few candles burn around the room, but they’ve clearly been left out for some time. The last lit candle in one of the holders closest to her bed has melted all the way down to the base. While she’s watching, the flame puffs out and smoke curls off the overworked wick.

She tries to stay focused on the wispy tendrils, but the longer she’s conscious, the harder it is for her to ignore the aching of her body.

“Is anyone there?” she whispers.

Silence.

“Hello?” she says, a little louder.

Something rustles on the other side of the room.

“I need help,” Lexa says. “Is that you, Titus?”

Suddenly, Clarke’s tear-stained face appears above her and the memories rush back.

Their goodbye. Their kiss. Hurried, yet blissful, lovemaking. Hearing shots from her room… _oh_!

“Clarke?” she says, suddenly so unsure of everything.

That’s all it takes for Clarke to break down. Tears start gushing from her eyes and she crawls up onto the edge of the bed, pulling Lexa’s head into her chest. “You’re okay! Oh, god, you’re okay,” she says, wailing.

“It hurts,” Lexa says, tears welling in her own eyes. “Everything hurts.”

Clarke nods and starts pulling away. “I’ll go wake my mom, she can—”

“No!” Lexa cuts her off, panicked. “Stay. Please.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows and then nods, sliding more completely onto the bed and curling into Lexa’s side.

She’s careful not to disturb the gunshot wound, though, and for that, Lexa is grateful.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Clarke says after a moment of silence, her voice breaking.

“I _was_ lost,” Lexa says, recalling her dream forest. Her hand finds the top of Clarke’s head, and she smooths down her hair. “I imagine I have you and Abby to thank for finding me.”

Clarke shakes her head and her tears soak into Lexa’s ruined shirt. “It was mostly my mom. I—I completely lost it. I couldn't handle the idea of you…I completely lost it.”

Lexa understands the unspoken message in Clarke’s words and, though she’s weak, she clings as tightly as she can to the girl in her arms.

“Believe me, you still did your part,” she says before kissing Clarke’s forehead.

Clarke pulls away far enough to give Lexa a quizzical look.

As their eyes meet, the words bubble up to Lexa’s lips once again.

This time, with the knowledge that no single moment is promised, she lets them go. Lets her heart soar far higher than the treetops.

“I love you.”

Clarke blinks and then understanding dawns on her face.

“I love you, too, Lexa. I love you so much.”

And that is enough.


End file.
